


Guilty

by paynesgrey



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: F/M, Incest, Offensive toward religion, sacrilegious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-06
Updated: 2008-07-06
Packaged: 2019-10-03 18:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17289038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paynesgrey/pseuds/paynesgrey
Summary: The father she never knew is gone, but Peter is back, and Claire Bennet's thoughts run wild, much to Peter's dismay. ONESHOT.





	Guilty

In an instant she loses the father she’s never known.

One minute she’s opening the door to greet the uncle she thinks is dead, and in the next they’re flying back to Odessa, only to meet with her grandmother’s grim face.

“Nathan’s dead; it’s too late,” she says, a little too ominous for Claire’s taste. Peter is confident Claire can save him, but then he realizes that now she can’t.

No one can ever save him because Angela Petrelli has ordered Nathan’s body cremated. (Claire can’t figure out why; the Petrellis are Catholic, and she’s sure they don’t do that.)

She sees Peter’s dark expression and understands everything.

Angela Petrelli is not on their side, and Claire and Peter will never see Nathan again.

Peter cries, and Claire holds him. And as his body molds perfectly within her embrace, a terrible thought occurs to her.

She’s not as sad for her real father’s death as she is happy to see Peter. And she knows this doesn’t trouble her as much as it should.

\--

The mass service drones on and on, and Claire cannot concentrate. The priest’s sermons about sin, faith, and God go right over her head. She glances to her side at Peter, and she notices he’s lost in thought, paying as much attention as she is.

Her grandmother is wedged between them, feigning false grief with red eyes filled with tears and a face contorted in anguish.

At first, Claire’s mind wanders through the monotone sermon, and she wonders about her real parents, how they met, how forbidden their tryst must have been in the eyes of outsiders.

She wonders if they felt the thrill of meeting in secret and if that thrill felt anything like love.

Idly, she glances at Peter, only to feel her grim frown disappear as she studies his face. The nagging almost painful feeling in the center of her chest returns, and she can’t look away. To her, Peter has the perfect hero face: wide eyes of wonder and awe, brows that turn crooked when evil is afoot, and the kindest smile that any damsel in distress would instantly fall for.

 _Too bad he’s your uncle_ , the voice inside her bemoans for the hundredth time.

Claire looks away when Peter meets her gaze. There’s a perplexity that paints his face, and she instantly wonders if he’s heard her thought.

While her grandmother continues to look ahead, Claire feels Peter’s gaze on her, studying her. Desperately, she wants to meet his gaze, but she’s too afraid.

She’s afraid that her face will reveal that she really doesn’t care that he’s her uncle. She’s been wrestling with the thought for months since the explosion. She’s never really allowed herself to feel guilty for it. She’s always conceded that he’s dead anyway and sinful thoughts can’t endanger someone posthumously.

Those thoughts are bearable until he comes back into her life.

And she feels even guiltier as she still can’t mourn Nathan’s death.

How can a father disapprove if he wasn’t alive to do so? How could even a foster father disapprove if he’s permanently gone from her life anyway?

Claire, still feeling Peter’s gaze shifting back and forth on her, looks up at the sculpture of Jesus nailed on the cross in the center of the church. She stares, and then she realizes something.

She’s reunited with Peter at last and obstacles in her way are fading and fading.

No, God isn’t doing this to her. (Her eyes shift to the confessional.) The Devil is.

The Devil is making her think that it’s okay to feel such things for her uncle.

(She swallows hard and stares at the confessional.)

The Devil is here now and may even sit between them in this pew. The Devil may have even taken away Nathan so she could do as she wants.

(Claire studies the structure of the confessional, and she notices how small it is, cozy for one on one side and one on the other. She wonders if two could fit in one side. She licks her lips.)

The Devil may even be whispering in her ear, influencing her and drowning out the words of damnation and temptation coming from the priest’s lips. She hears laughing in her head, and she wonders if it’s even her own.

Claire has a wicked thought and barely hears the ‘Amen’.

She looks to her sweaty palms and lets feeling explode within her; she’s been keeping it all locked in for too long anyway.

The church bursts into an ending hymn, and with a force of unbridled energy, her thoughts sing with them. _I love Peter! I’ve always loved him._

She glances to the confessional and then to Peter again.

He’s horrified, and she feels even sicker when she’s oddly aroused.

\---

Claire squeezes her thighs together and can’t help notice her wetness as Peter glowers at her from across the other side of the limo. He gives her that ‘shame on you’ face and she hates how he has more of that ‘uncle’ face than her favorite ‘hero’ face.

She pouts and the wetness doesn’t go away. She hears her grandmother briskly drone on about something, but she’s not paying attention. Peter gives her noncommittal replies, and Angela seems more than satisfied.

Claire looks out the window and tries to shut out Peter from her thoughts.

She knows he’d just get angry anyway if he knew she was thinking about that small confessional again and what she would do to him inside it.

\--

They’re back in the Petrelli House, and Claire idly realizes Heidi and the boys haven’t come back with them after the funeral. She’s sure her grandmother has already taken care of them.

Angela tells her she’s welcome to stay as long as she likes, but she mentions Claire’s adopted mother and suddenly she forgets where she is.

Frowning, Claire says she’ll let them know when she wants to go, and to escape Peter’s dark accusing eyes, she steps out of the dining room and goes back up to the room made out for her, the same room she had been given before the explosion.

Angela leaves as well for more ‘business’ to do, but Peter refuses to let Claire just run off. He rushes in front of her and closes the door. Claire is sure he uses one of his powers to block her way, and she looks up at him with a glare.

“Claire, we need to talk.”

She already hates where this is going. Predictably, Peter takes the noble route.

Claire nods, not meeting his eyes. “You want me to leave sooner.” She pauses and Peter starts to reply. She interrupts with a sneer, “It’s okay. I can tell by your face.”

Leaving is what non-sinning pure people would do - people who don’t have feelings for their uncles.

Peter purses his lip. “Claire, I didn’t mean to intrude, but back at the church…”

Claire holds up her hand to stop him. She feels anxiety coolly burst throughout her whole body. “Stop right there.” She meets his eyes with a penetrating stare. Her voice drops low. “I won’t apologize for something you stole from my head, Peter. I won’t explain myself either.” She stiffens and turns the handle on the door to leave. “I’m going to bed. Good night, Peter.” She walks few steps out into the hall and turns around, taking advantage of his silence.

She looks at him softly. Despite her barrage of wild thoughts, she really is relieved and elated to have him alive and in her life again.

“It really is good seeing you.”

Still, he says nothing, but the contemplative expression on his face is good enough for her.

She turns heel and walks up the stairs. She only wishes she could hear Peter’s thoughts too. She frowns. It’s only fair.

\--

Dinner sucks, Claire thinks. Nobody says anything, and Peter glares at both her and his mother like they’re both cut from the same devilish mold. Well, maybe they are. Claire doesn’t want to kill anyone, however. She just wants to be with Peter – and not in the family way.

She excuses herself from the table and does a morose march up the stairs to her spare room. She collapses on the bed with an ill-mannered thump and clutches the bed covers to her face and chest.

Damn you, Peter, she thinks, and almost immediately, she’s sorry she damns him. She should be damning herself. But she knows it’s more complicated than that. She doesn’t even think he’d give her a chance to explain.

It doesn’t matter anyway, she resolves to herself. Whatever is said between them the end result will be the same. Peter will listen, and then he will shoot down her feelings because it’s the right thing to do. The next day she could be heading home to her mom and brother and possibly never see Peter again. He’ll just be this great guy who was once her hero that she’s related to.

Claire doesn’t think that’s fair. She rolls over on her back and stares at the ceiling. The rest of her evening is full of thoughts of what Peter would do.

But ever ending is the same. He’ll never accept her. Claire sighs. She hates that she’s the only messed up person here.

It’s still not fair.

She closes her eyes and falls asleep. It’s only seven, but what the hell; she can’t do anything else awake. Thinking too much about it just pisses her off anyway.

Claire’s opens her eyes and realizes the entire house is dark. She turns quickly to her left to read the time on the alarm clock and lets out a yawn. Her evening nap has thrown her body out of whack, and now she’s wide awake at 2 a.m.

She blinks her eyes out of hazy dreams still fresh on her mind. Of course, the universe is cruel to her, and she dreams of Peter, of the first time she met him and the time again when he doesn’t make her feel so alone.

Claire doesn’t know why the man who is her hero is her uncle as well. It’s more like a lame joke rather than the fairytales she’d like to believe in when she was a little girl. And suddenly, she notices her eyes are wet and her heart is breaking again with every thought.

 _It’s happening all over again_ , she thinks. Since the first day she learned of their relation to the day he exploded before her eyes, making her think he was dead.

Someone once told her, “You can’t help who you love.” She doesn’t know if that was her mom or just some character on a cheesy TV show. It doesn’t matter anymore.

“It’s all stupid anyway,” she says to herself in the lonely and silent room.

Then, she hears voices beneath her feet, and she almost forgets that Peter’s spare room is right below her. She lays still and makes out his voice.

It’s muffled through the floor, but he’s not exactly being quiet. She doesn’t know who he’s talking to, so she quietly moves, and picks up the phone in the bedroom. No one is on the other line, so he’s either talking on his cell phone or …

The voice stops, and she jumps as she hears something fall onto the floor. “Shit!” she hears him cry loudly, and his voice is angrier than usual. It’s just as well, she thinks. Peter’s been in a bad mood since she got here, and she’s sure he’d blame her in an instant.

His brother just died and all she cares about him and _them_. As cruel as that seems, Claire can’t seem to feel guilty for it.

And she can’t seem to feel guilty for continuing her fresh thoughts of Peter even after he’s gone to bed. He is right underneath her, and she doesn’t forget this.

Her mind instantly goes back to the confessional from the funeral. _Why do I keep thinking of that place? This is so wrong; I’m so sick,_ she says to herself, but can’t shake the image out of her brain.

It feels like her haven – their haven and a nexus between right and wrong. It’s a place that draws a thin line of redemption, to confess and then repent for one’s sins. Maybe if they went there, time would stand still. Time would give them _time_ to be together in such a judgmental and moral world.

She sighs heavily. _This is silly_ , she thinks, and when she’s about to go to sleep, she hears movement again below her. Her eyes widen.

 _No. He’s not… he can’t hear…?_ She swallows uncomfortably. Is she thinking that loud?

She falls into a pause and stays very still.

He can hear everything. The thought dawns on her, and she’s never felt more tempted. He’s her secret audience, and maybe she’s just guessing here…

Another weird sound comes from below, and she knows she’s not just paranoid. Peter is listening to her. She knows she should quiet her mind but she just can’t.

She closes her eyes and lets the dream come alive.

\--  
_  
It’s the dead of night. The red moon is full and high in the sky of scattered clouds. There’s a chill in the air: of spirits that come to wander and of wicked deeds of mortals shrouded by the darkness of night. Innocence of the day slips away into hiding, and fools and sinners come out to play._

_He’s holding her hand and pulling her along. Her breath is caught in her throat. She’s nervous and it rolls off her to him. He pulls her close, and his warmth is the most comforting thing she’s ever known. She licks her lips as they come to the front door of the old church – the very church they had laid his brother to rest. There’s an air of residual regrets, but the feeling of new beginnings has filled their blood instead._

_The dead are not welcome to walk beside them. They are in this alone._

_The door creaks open without a hand to touch it, and their feet clamor down the aisle and turn to the shadowed box in the corner of the back of the room. There’s a pause, and he’s looking at her to make sure she’s certain and ready._

_He’s more than ready. Her blood feels like it’s on fire. It’s his whim, not hers, and the danger that he seeks invigorates her._

_She blinks, and when her eyes open again his arms are around her in the darkness. No matter how wide her eyes get, there is no light in the confessional. They are alone and no light can seep in and shine a beacon on their sin. What happens in here stays in here._

_His hands are all over her body; his demanding kisses are on her throat and lips. She sighs and moans as her clothes are torn away from her, and he’s pulling open her legs, dipping eager fingers down below and tracing them over the excitement blossoming from between. Two and then three fingers fill her, and she’s moving in rhythm with him, and as they climb higher, she hears the Devil laughing in her ear._

_“Peter,” she moans, biting back the words immediately with her fist. He’s already dipped down and taken her nipples between his teeth, sucking on them before drawing away and pulling his fingers out._

_A church bell rings at midnight, and she becomes filled with him. She screams with the loud chimes, and he grunts in her ear and pulls her as close as he can._

_She comes and the room no longer seems black. Peter doesn’t seem as loving as he thrashes inside her for his own satisfaction._

_Their sin taints this place, and they can never go back._

_Peter spills deep inside her, and Claire knows she doesn’t want to go back. Not ever._  
  
\--

Claire squeals as her door squeaks open, and she doesn’t have time to draw her hand out from her panties, soaked from her heated fantasy.

She meets Peter’s eyes, and he leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He does not smile, and his face is placid and unreadable. It’s still dark, but Claire is sure his eyes are showing some emotion. She can’t see though; his face is so dark in shadow he looks like a phantom.

“Have a good dream?”

His voice pierces at her in mocking. Her jaw drops at his audacity. She grits her teeth and then replies, “None of your business.”

He scoffs at her, and she puts a mental block around her, trying to make him get the picture.

“Shut the door, Peter.”

He does, and Claire glowers at the center of the door. The room feels cold and lonely again.

\--

She should have expected that first thing in the morning Peter would confront her. Immediately, it perturbs her, but she finally realizes it’s inevitable.

They’re alone in Nathan’s old study; her grandmother is gone for the day, no doubt busy with her usual nefarious schemes. But for today, the house belongs to them.

He’s pacing back and forth, and Claire crosses her arms and glowers at him.

“Well?”

Peter stops and shakes a finger at her. It pisses her off so much she wants to bite it.

“What’s gotten into you, Claire? You weren’t like this before the explosion. How do you all of the sudden… You’re driving me crazy, do you know that?”

“Well I’m sorry,” Claire lashes at him. “I can’t control my feelings. I’ve been struggling with them since I thought you were dead.” She stares a hole into the floor. “I never realized how much I missed you once you died. Then, things just sort of happened…”

“They need to stop,” Peter replies predictably. Claire makes a face.

“Easy for you to say.” She catches him bite his lip and look away in turmoil. But he doesn’t say anything. Claire wonders if he’s hiding something.

“You know, I heard you last night… I heard everything,” he says in a soft voice.

“You need to stay out of my head,” Claire says just above a whisper. “If it bothers you so much why don’t you ignore it?”

“It’s not that simple, Claire,” he says. “We’re… connected, and I’m an empath, so I feel everything around me.”

“How is that my fault? Why don’t you take a long walk or something?” she huffs at him, but his grim expression doesn’t change.

“I’m taking you home,” he says finally. Claire knows there’s more he wants to say, but he just isn’t. He’s taking the easy way out. Brown eyes pierce into hers, and she knows he’s serious. Panic rises in her throat. The last thing she wants is to be away from him. She just got here, after all.

“I’m not going home. You can’t make me,” Claire says defiantly with her chin in the air. Peter’s expression assures her he won’t back down either. “I’ll tell my grandmother that I want to stay. She wants me to anyway.”

“And I’ll tell her why you have to leave,” Peter threatens. What was wrong with him? Why was he so anxious to see her leave?

Then, the tears came. Peter sees them but doesn’t faze.

 _Jerk_ , she thinks.

“I don’t care. She probably knows anyway. That woman knows everything.” There. Claire knows he won’t argue with that.

Peter sighs, and he surprises her when he heads to the door. “You’re leaving. We’re not discussing this anymore. Obviously, you need to … sort out your feelings away from me.”

“Peter…”

“No, Claire! My brother died! And then you come and you show absolutely no remorse for him.”

She felt like there was something stabbing her heart.

Peter pauses as he opens the door. “I was so glad to see you, Claire, but now I don’t know how to deal with you.”

“You don’t have to deal with me! You just have to tell me how you feel!” she roars at him, but he’s already marching into the hallway. “Hey!”

Unsatisfied, Claire stomps her foot and shakes her head. Then, she does something she knows she might regret. She follows him as Peter storms to the rooftop of the house.

\--

 

Claire finds Peter leaning over the edge of the house. The Petrelli household, she finds, has a balcony-type area on top of the entire structure. In the middle, patio furniture and flower pots accent the area. She slowly closes the door, and Peter glances at her briefly as it makes a creak.

“Claire, you shouldn’t have come here,” Peter says.

“We weren’t done talking,” Claire replies back.

“No, I mean… if you felt that way, you shouldn’t have come to the funeral.”

“Peter, I’m sorry. I’m sad that Nathan’s dead. I can’t describe it. I didn’t know him that much, but I do feel remorse.”

“Then how do explain those thoughts?” he asks.

Claire frowns. “You had no right digging into my brain.”

Peter appears a little guilty. “Maybe you’re right.” He turns around and leans against the edge, facing her. “You could have told me. We could have worked this out.”

“And what are we doing now?” Claire says softly.

Peter looks exasperated. Claire begins to walk slowly to him.

“Now I don’t know if I want to work this out, Claire.” He looks paler. “Not after what I heard last night…”

“It was a dream.”

“No. You baited me. You knew I was reading you.”

Claire gets closer and sashays toward him. “It’s your own fault for that.”

“I care about you, Claire. I’m always…worried.” Claire’s so close to him now she touches his arm. He looks down at her touch with fear and disgust. Claire grips his forearm hard.

“I’m staying.”

Peter gives her a sympathetic look. “No, Claire, you’re going back to your mother tomorrow.” He tries to remove her arm, but Claire doesn’t budge. “It’s best for both of us.”

“I can’t believe you! How can be so cold? I have these feelings for you, and you’re not going to even help me? What kind of hero are you?” She slaps his face, and Peter grabs her hand and gives her a glare.

“Claire, I’m not a… I can’t help you; not in the way you want me to.”

Claire leans in closer to him automatically. Her voice is low and intoned with coyness. “And what way is that?”

“Stop it! Don’t you know the only way I can help you is to take you back to your mother?” Peter says desperately, and Claire is surprised. She’s convinced he’s holding back his true feelings more than ever.

“I don’t believe you. I believe there’s something you’re not telling me too,” Claire says, leaning close to his face. Her voice fills with venom. “Am I the only one here with the guts to say what’s going on between us since we first met at Homecoming?”

Peter’s face contorts in anger toward her words, and suddenly, she feels herself flying back into the air. The wind escapes her lungs as she’s thrown against the door from which she came. She tastes blood, and notices she bit her lip. Her head is pounding from the impact, and her ribs feel bruised. As usual, her healing powers soon come into play.

She cranes her neck up and wipes the blood from her mouth. She stares at Peter accusingly and can’t believe he’s done that to her. Before she can lash at him, he’s storming at her and caging her within his arms against the door. Claire’s mind reels from the closeness, and she can feel the anger fuming off of him.

He surprises her again when his lips come close enough to kiss her.

“You don’t…” He’s struggling, and Claire can’t help but feel she’s right about his feelings. It gives her hope, but only seems to add to their problems. “You don’t know how I feel.”

“Tell me,” she seethes defiantly, piercing into his eyes and then dropping them to his lips. He leans in, and their lips lightly touch. She wets hers quickly, only to scare him away. He drops his arms and releases the cage around her.

She blinks, and he’s gone again, turning invisible and probably soaring through the cold New York skies.

\--

The next day, her grandmother pulls her and Peter aside, and Claire is sure she’s going to scold her for her feelings. She’s pleasantly surprised when Angela defies Peter and insists Claire stay with them – for good.

“Now that Nathan is gone, I want the family to stay together.” She gives Peter a hard stare when he tries to protest. “I don’t want one Petrelli clear across the country in God knows where. I had a hard time convincing Heidi to keep the boys here in New York after the funeral, and I refuse to lose Claire too.”

“Mom, Claire has to take care of her mother and brother.” He tries to convince her. “Noah Bennet is gone, and they need her.”

Angela shakes her head. “Claire is our family, Peter, not theirs.”

“Why don’t you let Claire decide?” Peter fumes at her.

“Hey! Stop talking about me like I’m not in the room,” Claire interrupts. They both look at her with surprise.

“I’m staying,” she says, noticing her grandmother’s victorious smirk. “Sorry, but I have to sort out some thoughts here. I…”

“I don’t think you should be here for that. It’s best you do that back with your mom and brother – away from us,” Peter admonishes. Angela looks back and forth at them suspiciously.

“Peter,” Angela says, putting a stern hand on his chest. “Claire wants to stay. Let her stay for a little while.”

Peter’s expression changes, as if he’s starting to agree with each one of her words. Claire looks on in wonder. Suddenly, Peter breaks away from Angela’s touch and glares at Claire.

“Fine. But she leaves in a week.”

“Peter!” Angela chides, but he’s already out of the room.

Claire looks on with sadness, and she hears her grandmother sigh beside her. “I don’t know what got into that boy.”

“We had a fight last night on the roof,” Claire said. Her healed ribs tingle with memory, and she rubs them. The motion does not go unnoticed to Angela. “A bad fight.”

She meets Angela’s eyes and matches the woman’s usual coldness. “He still grieves for Nathan, and he thinks that I don’t grieve enough.”

“Is that all, Claire?” Angela says quickly.

Silence makes the room heavy. Claire purses her lips and prepares to leave too.

“Of course not. There’s more.”

Claire leaves and really doesn’t care if her grandmother gets the hint. She at least gets to stay.

\--

When she gets to her room, Peter is waiting for her and leaning on the frame.

“You have to change your mind. You know it’s for the best,” he says pleadingly.

“Best for me or best for you?” she snaps, trying to move past him into her room. He grabs her arm and pulls her back.

“Claire.”

“Look, Peter,” she says with finality in her tone. “If I agree to leave, you and I have to make a deal.”

“And what’s that?” His tone could have been less mean, but given the situation, Claire knows he’s still angry and won’t let up.

She pulls her arm from his grasp and looks him darkly in his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about what you’ve said lately. If I agree to leave, one thing has to happen.”

His silence beckons her to continue. She hates that it has to come down to this, but she has to throw out an ultimatum. She knows it’s a bluff but her only option to get him to open up.

“I leave tomorrow and go back to my mom and brother, but I won’t ever come back here again.”

“Okay…” he says not picking up on the suspense she’s building.

She crosses her arms and glares. “I don’t think you understand, Peter. If I leave, I never come back. I’m done with the Petrellis.” She watches his jaw drop like clockwork. She resists the smirk rising within her. “I’m done with you,” she says finally.

Automatically, he retorts, “But you and Mom are all I have left. Now that Nathan is gone…”

“Well, you want me to go so bad; I guess you’re just going to have to lose me.” He’s so shocked that she takes advantage and pushes him out the door. “Forever,” she says, and slams the door in his face.

She doesn’t hear him leave her doorstep for some time, and there’s a funny feeling of almost-victory rising in the pit of her stomach.

She only hopes her bluff works because if it doesn’t, she’s going to have to give in to her own ultimatum.

Seeing Peter without any resolution between them will just haunt and destroy her for the rest of their lives.

And she has a feeling, with both of them able to heal; she’ll be living with the pain for a long, unnatural amount of time.

\--

Claire thinks her bedroom door is locked, but she soon finds out that evening that it doesn’t stop Peter. He muffles her surprised shriek with his hand and surprisingly, sits on the edge of her bed. She clutches her sheets to her chest, her eyes wide and wild, questioning his intentions.

“I don’t want you to go,” he says. He draws his hand from her mouth now that she calms down. She relaxes and nods.

“What changed your mind?”

He gives her a crooked smile, and her heart melts a little. She can’t even stay mad at him, not when he’s conceding to her demands.

“Like I told you, you and Mom are all I have left,” he says, and he looks away from her.

“Then…what about this thing between us,” she says. He lets out a sigh and then gives her a pitying look. She knows it’s forced, and it makes her angry again.

“Claire, you know you’re the only one who has a ‘thing’ between us. I can’t help you with it,” he says finally.

“You’re lying,” she accuses. “You’re in denial, and I’m trying to reach out to you. Don’t tell me that you don’t feel anything too. I’ve felt… I can tell by the way you say and do things. You’ve been resisting, but I think there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to.”

“That’s delusional, Claire. You just want me to feel the same way. You’re my niece.”

“Then why do you want me to go away so quickly? So I won’t have to tempt you? So I don’t remind you of your feelings?” she argues. Peter’s noble demeanor fades, and he becomes annoyed again.

“I want you to go for your own sake, Claire, nothing more,” he says with a warning.

Claire leans close to him and seethes, “I don’t believe you. You’re the one who said we are connected.” She pauses as she can see the realization on his face. There! She puts her hand over his. “How can this be a delusion when I feel it so much and so hard.” Her voice falters and she’s on the verge of sobbing.

“I don’t…Claire.” He stops and sighs as she rests her head against his shoulder. She gasps as she feels his fingers weave through her hair.

He lets out a weak chuckle. “I asked myself after you brought me back to life, ‘Why does it have to be her of all people?’ And then I realized it was just part of my bad luck. First there was Simone, then you, and then Caitlin. Am I not supposed to be happy? Why do all the women I care about become so unreachable?”

She lifts her hand and caresses his jaw. “But I’m not unreachable, Peter. I’m here.”

“You are here, but that’s what makes it wrong, Claire,” he says. She hates that word ‘wrong’, and it simmers inside her head.

“I know it’s wrong. Don’t you think I’ve felt sick enough about this? For months after I found out we were related I denied the feelings. I denied all the fantasies I had after you rescued me, and they were my most precious things – the things that saved me when my mother was losing her mind and my father was betraying me. Then I’d fill my heart and mind with you and everything would be fine,” she cries. She feels his fingers wipe the tears away, and then he shifts on her bed. She feels his weight as he leans over her.

She stills when she feels his hands slowly slide up her arms and onto her shoulders. His face moves closer, and she feels his hot breath blanket her lips. Now, she’s certain he wants her as much as she does.

His hands nervously play with her hair, and he plants a light kiss on her lips. She opens her mouth slightly, granting him more access.

Her heart races, and she can taste his tongue – finally, and his mouth tastes much better than it does in her dreams. His hands feel stronger now than in her dreams.

And in her dreams he’s never this soft.

He devours her mouth completely, and she feels him tug at her tee shirt.

She rubs her body against him excitedly, and she thinks this is starting out just like her dreams.

Just as she’s always wanted.

Quickly, he breaks the kiss and pushes away from her as if she’s poison. He looks mortified, as if he doesn’t know what has come over him. She looks back at him in pain.

“Claire, I’m sorry… I have a lot to think about.”

She moves to reply, but he shakes his hand and acts wounded, and he bolts out her door. He leaves her, and Claire knows she’s been refused.

Her body can’t calm down after the brief taste of excitement he’s given her. Claire cries for the rest of the night, and she hopes that he can hear her.

\--

 

The next morning Peter is gone. She almost expects him to run away like this. Last night lines are crossed, and she’s sure Peter can’t deal with it like she can. She’s had months to deal with it, but having him refuse and leave her really hurts.

“I suspect Peter left because of you,” Angela says with an owl-like scrutiny. They’re having breakfast in each other’s company, and without Peter, it seems even lonelier. “You said you two have been fighting.”

Claire nods. “He still wants me to go home.”

Angela cocks her head, and Claire can’t believe she sees sadness in the cold woman’s eyes. “You’re going to leave now that he’s gone?”

She looks out the window of the dining room and smiles lightly. “I don’t think I can now. I have to wait until he comes back.”

Angela scoffs and moves to excuse herself. “That is if he comes back. That boy has never been more unreliable when it comes to staying at home.”

“No, I think he’ll come back,” Claire says confidently. She tries to soothe the voice screaming in anguish inside her. “He just has to.”

She doesn’t hear Angela leave, but she stays in her seat well after the servants clean off her plate. She daydreams as she looks out the window and wonders if Peter is in the sky somewhere.

She feels déjà vu, like the time she used to daydream when she thought he was dead.

But he’s well alive, and Claire knows he’ll come back for her.

After all, this issue between them is far from over.

\--

A week goes by and Claire admits to herself that it may be a long time before she sees Peter again. As each day goes by, the more she believes he really was torturing himself with such feelings of her.

She only wishes he could understand how she feels, and then upon remembering he’s an empath, she knows that he does but must not be able to admit it to himself.

When she starts to feel like Peter is a lost cause and not coming back any time soon, he surprises her again and swoops into her window at night like some kind of prince of darkness, and then he carries her away.

\--

The moon isn’t visible tonight, but they’re here in front of that very church anyway. Claire disregards the dark sky filled with large rain clouds, and she shivers against Peter’s body. He doesn’t seem particularly talkative or thrilled that they’re here.

“Well, this is where you wanted to go,” he says. His voice pricks her like needles.

“Peter, we need to talk first,” she says, holding him back. This isn’t her fantasy; this is real. He’s been gone for a week without explanation and she wants answers.

“Why do you want to talk when I’m giving you want you want?” he snaps at her. She turns him around to face her and tries to calm him.

“I don’t want it unless you want it too.”

“Oh, so that’s how it works for Claire Bennet?” he mocks her. This is a side of Peter she hates. He’s moping and giving into darkness like there’s no other choice.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she says quietly.

“Maybe you want me to be romantic or something,” he says with that nasty voice again. She glowers at him, but he doesn’t sympathize. “Claire, for what we have, there’s no room for romance.”

“I know that, but I just thought…”

Peter suddenly grabs her upper arm and drags them ahead. The church doors slam open from his powers, and they slam shut with a bang. Claire’s scared that he’s woken the resident priest.

“Peter, you’re going to get us caught.”

“It makes it more exciting, don’t you think?”

She pulls her arm from him. “I don’t like you like this. I’m going home!”

She stomps off, but Peter doesn’t move to catch her.

“I give myself to you and then you don’t want me. Make up your mind, Claire.”

She spins around and snaps. “Giving yourself to me? Is this what that is? Peter, I just wanted you to be honest me and tell me your feelings. I knew you were struggling with your feelings too, and I just wanted to work them out together.”

“But what about this Claire? Didn’t you want this?” He points to the confessional.

Claire hesitates. “Yes, but not for much time after. No, you don’t have to do this at all! It’s just my stupid misguided hope and my way of dealing with how totally sick and twisted my feelings are.”

Peter walks up to her slowly and his touch feels much gentler. “Tell me what you want.”

Claire looks up into his face. She sighs. “I just wanted you to tell me how you feel about me. I don’t want to be the only one having these thoughts.”

“You aren’t.”

She feels relieved, and she leans against him. “Thank God.”

Peter draws her into a tight embrace that she feels is long overdue. “It’s not God, Claire.” He stares ruefully at the statue of Jesus looking down at them. “It was never God.”

He turns to her again and cups her face in his hands. He bends down, and they share a gentle kiss, but it doesn’t stay gentle for long as eager hands roam her body and pull her toward the confessional.

Claire breaks from his lips and whispers against him, “So we’re really going to do this?”

Somehow, they maneuver together inside the tiny box, and he presses her against the back wall as he kisses her and pulls off her clothes.

His mouth leaves hers and moves down her throat, and she moans softly as she feels his fingers pull at her pajama bottoms, drawing the elastic over her hips.

“Peter.” His name feels like such a dirty word on her tongue, and as he pulls at his own pants, her mind reels again in disbelief that they’re actually doing this.

He pulls her thighs apart and rubs his hardness against hers. Flashes of allure burst all over the sensors of her body, and she feels his tip resting at her entrance, teasing and making her wet. She wraps her arms around him and arches her back to give him better access. She gasps and feels his tongue roll around her hardened nipples, sucking and squeezing them.

Peter’s strong hands slide under her bottom and pull her hips up. A storm cloud rumbles loudly outside, and in seconds she feels him already inside, pumping and thrashing away within her.  
Claire hears strong winds against the frame of the building, but soon they’re drowned out as Peter moans and breathes heavily against the shell of her ear.

“Oh, God; oh, God.” His voice is half-tormented, half-erotic, and she moves her hips rhythmically to his hurried pace.

She hears him suck in a deep breath, and he nuzzles his face into the crook of her shoulder. He’s pumping and driving, and she feels like flames are licking her body from her toes to the roots of her hair. She almost cries loudly, but he silences her with his melting taste, and he lifts her thighs higher in his hands and forces her back hard. She feels more angled, and as he drives into her, she feels him hit a spot she’s never known existed. She sees white and moans in his mouth, and as his touch consumes her, she gives into instinct and they both begin to push and pull firm and fast. A guttural moan escapes her, and she feels a quick high and then slams back down.

“Claire, God, Hell,” he cries, and she’s so wet and hot down there she doesn’t know where she ends and he begins.

He shudders with a stop, and she feels that in this second, they are finally one.

He pulls out quickly and comes all over her. She watches his teeth grit as he’s still reeling from the thrill, and he exhales heavily at his finish.

He wipes up his mess as best he can, and draws her into an embrace with repeating apologies. She cuddles against him tightly, and dreads that if she lets him go, he’ll refuse her and leave her all over again.

“Don’t leave,” she says desperately. He starts to regain his breath, and he shakes his head.

With a kiss to her brow, he promises, “I won’t. Not ever.”

A moment of semblance traps them as their breathing begins to even out. Claire sighs heavily and says, “I can’t believe we did this here.”

“It was your idea,” he says a little accusingly. But she knows at this point it’s all in jest. She feels the iron weight between them has finally been lifted.

“Just how much of my thoughts did you see?”

He kisses the top of her head again. “Everything,” he answers. “I saw and felt everything.”

“If you didn’t feel or see those things, do you still think we’d be doing this?”

Peter is silent for a moment, and it’s his turn to hug her and never let go. “Yes, eventually, yes.”

They feel into the comfort of silence and each other’s glow. Finally, Claire remarks, “The Devil is a dirty trickster.”

“I don’t think it’s the Devil either, Claire,” he says, slowly pulling away from her to regain his clothes. Claire does the same, but she eagerly awaits his explanation.

“I think it’s just us: human beings. And, well, these abilities too. Without them, they wouldn’t have brought us together.”

“And these feelings?” Claire still isn’t satisfied with his logic.

Peter shakes his head, and she can feel him smiling at her in the darkness. It’s her hero smile, the one that assures her that everything will be okay despite the world crashing down around them.

She closes her eyes and feels his thumb trace down her cheek. This time he’s not wiping any tears away.

“It’s just us, Claire. I realize that it’s just us, and that’s the way it’s going to be.”

“For a long time too,” Claire adds, remembering her healing powers.

“Yes, but don’t worry because I’ll be here right beside you.”

He pulls her against him, and they’re walking out of the church down the dark path through the gates. The ground is wet from a sporadic storm, now leaving the air damp and cool. She shivers and Peter brings her against him.

She feels Peter’s heavy sigh of resolution. “It’s supposed to be this way, isn’t it? Even though it’s so wrong.”

Claire stops and looks at him challengingly. “Who says it’s wrong?”

Peter arches an eyebrow at her and answers, “Oh, I can think of plenty people who would tell us we’re wrong.”

Claire snorts and begins to walk on ahead. She turns and faces Peter. She gives him a small smile. “Well, Destiny trumps all of them, don’t you think?”

Peter nods, and Claire holds out her hand to him. As she takes it into hers, she idly realizes that beneath both their skin, the same blood pumps within their veins. The memory of her lost father lives inside the man she loves most in the world and who loves her just much in return.

And with thoughts like these, Claire knows that words like ‘wrong’ and ‘guilty’ just don’t exist for them.

END

 


End file.
